Ashwick stood at the door to Francis' residence and knocked again, his anger growing by the second.
Anger and anticipation.
He'd wanted to seek Lady Lorena out the morning after his townhouse had burned to the ground, during a party he was sure the entire ton would remember. But he'd been called away to the country for personal matters. It had allowed him to take inventory of the clothing he'd left at Ashwick House in order to bring some of it to London, since nothing had survived the fire.
He'd told himself all week not to think about the worldly possessions he'd lost that night, but could not help doing so. Paintings, rugs, and furniture from India that had been handcrafted specifically to fit his needs. All of it, gone.
Because of the man in the mask. He'd found that part of Lorena's story to be true but he loathed the thought of her putting herself in danger.
He still wasn't sure what he'd do when he saw her. Part of him wanted to wrap his arms around her lovely neck, but he also wanted to place his hands in other places.
He'd never denied his attraction to Lady Lorena. He'd heard whispers about her before her debut, from men who'd said she'd have been their first choice if she'd had any dowry to speak of, and yet still, Ashwick had not been prepared.
He'd been twenty and still attending Oxford when he'd visited London for the season and what he'd learned very quickly during those first years of sexual satisfaction was that he'd no time for virgins. He'd not been interested in marriage, simply bedding.
But one look at Lorena had changed everything.
Perfect.
The word had echoed in his mind.
Her golden hair had been artfully piled on her head with curls brushing her cheeks and neck, and her eyes... those stunning blue eyes had been intent on him. He'd felt her attraction as though it were a living thing that could wrap around him and drag him to her.
They'd both taken a step.
And then she'd tripped.
And the blood...
It was only Francis' appearance that had stopped Ashwick from carrying Lorena off and away from the party. The urge to attend her himself had risen strong and declared he had to have her. He'd simply have to convince her that she needed him as well. Lorena had caught his eye that first night. Every day he'd seen her since had made him want her more. Sadly, their meetings always ended in disaster.
"Pardon me, my lord."
Ashwick turned around and stared at the man who was leaning on a lantern post in front of the house.
The man had bright blue eyes and dark blond hair. His suit looked cheap and tattered and, as he started to walk toward Ashwick, his gait showed him to be drunk, but not enough to be obvious to anyone who didn't know a drunk when they spotted one.
Ashwick knew drunks, and the man before him most certainly was one. Ashwick was sure that if he allowed the man closer, he'd be able to smell the spirits on his breath.
The man didn't get close, remaining off the stairs as he spoke, his hands deep in his pockets, a grin on his face. "Could I borrow a shilling?"
Ashwick lifted a brow. "Borrow implies you intend to return it."
The man grinned, becoming less of a man and more of a boy. He was younger than Ashwick had first thought, simply in need of some grooming and a shave. "All right, can I have a shilling?"
"No," Ashwick said. "Go home and sober yourself." He turned back to the door and knocked again.
"Name's Zedock Sudworth," the man continued as though Ashwick hadn't already dismissed him. "My friends just call me Zed."
Ashwick had no plans to call him anything but informed Zed of his own name in the hopes it would scare him away. "I am Lord Ashwick." Then he ignored him and continued to stare at the door.
"Ashwick, you say?" Zed asked. "You're one of those wealthy men with all that land?"
"Yes."
"Never understood what someone needed all that land for. Me? I'm happy with a blanket and a dry corner."
Ashwick frowned.
Zed went on, "So, what's all the land for?"
Ashwick turned to him and said, "Sheep."
"Sheep?" Zed said, taking a step forward. "What do they need land for?"
"To move," Ashwick said with a sigh. "And to eat the grass."
Zed shrugged, crossed his arms, and looked away. He perched himself by the stairs as he said, "It's a funny world when a man like me starves to death while sheep have plenty."
Ashwick looked at Zed as he would a man across a table upon business. There was obviously more to the drunkard than what he could see. "I'm sure when you go to the taverns, it is not the stew you seek."
Zed placed a hand over his heart as though he'd been struck. "Taverns? Never been to one of those before."
"I'm sure," Ashwick said, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the door.
He heard footsteps and Zed was suddenly leaning against the door, his shoulder propped against it. "How about you give me a shilling and I help you get inside the place?"
Ashwick asked, "You know the butler?"
Zed just wiggled his brows.
Ashwick frowned. "I don't need help breaking in. I know the man who lives here."
Zed stared him in the eyes. "Won't break in, I swear it to you."
Ashwick pressed his lips together and sighed. If giving Zed a shilling would get the man to go away then it was what he would do. He dug into his pocket and handed Zed what he asked for.
Zed pocketed the coin, grinned, and placed his hand on the doorknob. He turned it and pushed it open.
The door was unlocked.
Ashwick stared at him. "How'd you know the door was unlocked?"
"Cost you another shilling," Zed replied.
Ashwick lifted a brow and strolled inside, closing the door behind him. Then he was once again surprised to find the interior was bare. It had been years since Ashwick had walked the halls of the duke's London mansion, but what he remembered was how envious the ton had been about it. The Valdestons, for a time, had been in possession of one of the most beautiful homes in London.
He looked around the foyer. Though it was bare, he could not deny that the house was grand. It was not only the elaborate wallpapers or the painted ceilings that made the ton envy it, but the structure itself. The first duke who'd built it had been known as a mad man, which led to making the design of the home a piece of art all on its own. The gift of design tended to skip generations and was a gift Francis had inherited.
The rooms were oddly shaped and never seemed to lead where one thought they might, and yet, in the same way, it was not cold like a museum. Even with few furnishings, it was warm, with windows positioned in a way to bring in the best light.
As he walked, he noticed that some of the rooms had their windows blocked off, making sections of the house dark and forbidden. He frowned as he got to the staircase that spread in both directions, leading toward the next floor. He knew exactly where he was going.
He headed east and took another flight of stairs that led to the duke's bedchamber, finding more windows covered. He knocked on the heavy wooden door.
There was silence, then Francis' voice came from the other side.
"Who's there?"
"It's me," Ashwick said. "You know, your door was unlocked."
"Nothing to steal," Francis replied, which made sense.
Still.
"Where is your butler?"
"Don't have one." There was some shuffling on the other side.
"Why?"
"Taxes," Francis replied.
"Taxes?"
The door swung open, and Ashwick stared into the face of one of his closest friends.
Francis frowned and said, "Taxes. I can afford the servants, but not the taxes on them."
Ashwick shook his head. "Why are the windows covered?"
"Taxes."
"Taxes," Ashwick stated, starting to catch on.
"Window taxes," Francis replied before retreating back into the room. England taxed everything from the number of servants in a residence the number of windows one placed in their home. Francis had left the door open, which led Ashwick to believe it was all right for him to enter.
The master chamber's décor was just as spare as the rest of the rooms. There was a bed, a desk, a chair, and a wardrobe, but nothing more. No curtains. No paintings. Not even those of his family.
But once again, the architecture could not be ignored. The bed sat on a raised foundation of its own, surrounded by a short staircase to the top. The rooms were not formed like others, like large boxes with four even walls. Instead, the walls curved out in some places and came to a point in others, forcing anyone who entered the room to pause just to take it all in. The ceiling molding was beautiful and so was the painting of a country sky, the likes of which London never saw.
"I do enjoy the ceilings in this home," Ashwick remarked. His anger had all but disappeared with every step he'd taken in the house. The effect astonished him.
Francis, who was leaning over his desk with his hands positioned on either end, said, "I'd sell them to you if I could. I've sold everything I didn't need and wasn't attached to the floor." His frustration was evident in both his voice and his posture. It was no secret that since the death of Francis' parents two years ago, he had struggled to pay the taxes on the London residence. His father had sunk all his earnings into empty ventures, leaving his son destitute.
The money that the family did make from the entitled land was all Francis had left since his father had not had the right to sell it. And while the land did make a profit, it was just enough to keep the family's country estate in working order, allowed Francis to keep his prized horses, and if Francis was in the mood, he ate.
If Ashwick could, he would buy the ceilings. He was a collector, which had been the reason he'd left London after the fire. A curator had met him at his estate to look over a Roman statue. It was only by chance that his most valuable pieces were located in the country. Ashwick had money, more than one man needed, but nothing could replace history.
Ashwick, along with Francis' other friends, had tried to give Francis money, but Francis refused. He was sure it would ruin the friendship if he could never repay the debt. Ashwick understood. There was already a debt that Francis owed another gentleman, though that was not monetary.
"You could marry Genevieve. Her father's wealthier than Crassus. Also, you'd be putting the girl out of her misery."
Francis groaned. "That's never going to happen and you know why." Then he shook his head. "I'll get money another way."
Ashwick nodded and remembered why he was at Francis' door.
He leaned against the far wall, glanced around the room again, and said, "Well, aren't you in luck, as I am here to rent a room."
Francis turned around and stared at him. His blue eyes held him for a moment. "Of course. My sister burned yours down to the foundation, didn't she? Well, you don't have to pay for the room. Just place your things wherever you wish. The house is as good as yours." Then he turned back to the table and said, "I was just in the midst of trying to find a way to repay you."
"Repay me?" Ashwick asked.
"Your house." Francis crossed his arms over his chest. "My sister destroyed it. I must make this right. I'm loath to invest any of the profits from the estate since my family did not seem to have any luck in that category, but I will do what I must to right this grave wrong."
"No," Ashwick said, crossing the room. "I won't allow it. I've already begun construction. Men are clearing the debris away as we speak." And he had plans for Lady Lorena, but he certainly couldn't tell her brother that.
Francis lifted his brows and frowned once more. "I couldn't allow you to rebuild without helping. It's my sister's debt and. as her older brother, I shall see to it."
Ashwick stared at him. "You want to help, then draw up the plans for the new home. Your designs are more valuable to me than money."
Francis stilled and lifted a brow. "Are you sure? It's not nearly enough to repay you for what was lost."
Ashwick grabbed his shoulder. "Francis, you know very well that you are like a brother to me." Then he frowned and said, "I can't believe you actually thought I'd make you pay for my house, all the while knowing your financial constraints." He was actually angered by the thought. Ashwick was callous, but not where those he counted as friends were concerned.
Francis grinned. "I'll find a way to get you the money."
"Francis—"
"Not today," Francis quickly said. "But eventually."
Ashwick dropped his hand and rolled his eyes. "Very well."
A moment passed and Francis asked again, "Are you sure you want me designing your house? You know we Cullips are mad."
"I've no doubt about it," Ashwick replied with a grin. "Now, where's your sister?"
Francis nodded. "Of course, you'll want an apology."
Ashwick walked toward a chair by the fire and fell into it. "You mean she doesn't live with you?"
"No," Francis said. "When our parents died two years ago, she inherited my mother's house. It was in my mother's contract." Francis grinned and crossed one ankle over the other. "My parents had a love match but my mother's parents would not allow her to marry my father, knowing the way he handled his money, without stipulations."
"So, your mother had her own house." Ashwick wondered if this complicated the matter for him and decided it didn't. He would have Lorena one way or another.
"Yes," Francis said. "And the house was given to Lorena while I received my father's townhouse."
"Is it as bare as yours?" Ashwick asked casually, gaining as much information about Lorena as he could.
"Yes, though we'd both get on better if she sold it, she refuses. Plans to remain there for the rest of her days." Francis looked out the only window that Ashwick hadn't found boarded up. If he was moving in, the boards would be the first thing to go. Ashwick would pay the taxes himself if he had to. A house like Francis' should reflect its glory, not hide in the darkness.
"What do you mean?" Ashwick asked.
Francis glanced at him. "She's no plans to marry. Can you believe it? She's only twenty and has officially declared herself off the market. I think they wrote it in the papers the other day."
This surprised Ashwick. Lorena was beautiful. Yet Ashwick made sure not to show the astonishment on his face. He wanted to ask more, but didn't.
Thankfully, Francis went on with a sigh, "Can't say that I blame her. Without a dowry, she's only had offers from men old enough to be her father and even those men probably fear her now. Three years ago, she made the ton swoon at the sight of her blood and now the fire." Then he grinned and said, "I would ask if you were interested, but am not sure how I would feel about any of my friends marrying Lorena. Besides, I couldn't see how you, of all people, would be interested in her. After all, there always seems to be an incident of catastrophic measures whenever you two are together."
"Yes," Ashwick agreed. "I do like the idea of my home not catching flames." Though even a fire couldn't compete with the heat that burned in Ashwick's stomach whenever he saw her. It only irritated him that the first time he'd been able to hold her had been during the fire. He'd had to carry her from the building. She'd been so stunned by the flames, had he not made it in time, she'd have perished. Yet another reason she would show him gratitude.
Francis nodded and pushed off the desk. "I'll go tell her to write you a letter of apology. That way, you two don't have to be in the same room." He started for the wardrobe.
"No," Ashwick called, his fingers digging into the armchair. "There's no need. I want her to look me in the eye when she apologizes."
Francis nodded and grabbed his jacket. "Well, I'll accompany you. She just lives next door."
Ashwick lifted a brow. "What?"
Francis nodded as he put on his jacket. "My mother's townhouse is right next door. It's how my father and mother met. They'd grown up together. Yet another reason her parents allowed the match. They were friends."
Ashwick stood and turned his back to Francis to hide his grin. Lorena was just next door, and he couldn't wait to see her.
* * *